Learning the Lingo
by feathers
Summary: Archer is given a new drug to help him communicate with other races. Things don't turn out quite as expected. Please R?R


Please note, all standard disclaimers apply here. Let me know if you would like to archive my story. I write fanfiction for fun, not profit. I am absolutely hanging out for some feedback on my *Enterprise* stories. Please let me know what you think, as I really cannot judge my own work.  
Ê  
...oh, and the blanket thing? Well, I just couldn't help that. Something to do with the beagle.  
Ê  
feathers  
Ê  
LEARNING THE LINGO  
'We don't want Vulcans.'  
Commander Sarvel was neither annoyed nor upset by Gendalier's instruction, despite the man's obvious irrationality. A Vulcan mediator was the obvious choice in the discussions being proposed by the Halpions and the Banthoo. After all, what the two cultures needed was a logical approach to their situation. But Sarvel of course could not really discuss it with Gendalier, since he was adamant about not wanting to talk to Vulcans.  
'Will you accept a human mediator?'  
'Human?' Gendalier considered the proposition. He'd never actually met a human but he'd heard of them. They weren't cold blooded and dispassionate like Vulcans. There had even been some talk of discord on the human homeworld at some stage in their not too distant history. Humans sounded good. 'All right. Send a human.'  
***  
'We will be going to Rimdek, homeworld of the Halpions and the Banthoo,' T'Pol hadn't even bothered with a greeting when she'd entered Archer's ready room.  
'It's normal for the captain of the ship to give those orders, Sub-Commander, not a subordinate officer.' Archer didn't like to pull rank, but there were moments when it seemed necessary to remind certain elements that the ship had a chain of command.  
'I have had orders from Commander Sarvel. Sir. We are to return to Rimdek and take part in the peace talks between the Halpions and Banthoo.'  
'Why us?'  
'Enterprise is the logical choice. It is the nearest ship containing humans and the parties involved have requested a human mediator.'  
'This could take weeks though.' There were times when they went for days on end with nothing to disrupt a routine that became increasingly boring. It was a prospect that compared boundlessly favourably with eternally orbiting a planet where two angry factions interminably drew lines, daring the other to cross. 'Dammit, it could take forever!'  
'Captain...'  
'No, T'Pol. You can...in fact, no. I'll tell Sarvel myself. We won't go. We've got a whole sector to check out instead.'  
'Commander Sarvel has given me permission to release several new star charts once the peace talks have been finalised. The charts contain a great many possibilities for first contact with sentient races.'  
'That's extortion!'  
'I believe bribery to be the more accurate term Captain.'  
***  
'They'll probably have their own translators there as well,' Archer had spent half the morning trying to downplay Hoshi Sato's concerns.  
'But a peace conference. Do you realise the enormity of what can go wrong? One word. One misconstrued aside and I could have a whole planet at war. Millions of lives on my hands.'  
'Have you been doing the meditation exercises T'Pol showed you, Hoshi?'  
'Not really. I haven't had a lot of time.'  
'Then perhaps you'd better make time before we get to Rimdek.'  
'Not if I want to study up on Halpion and Banthoo,' Hoshi said miserably.  
***  
Gendalier was outraged. His Banthoo counterpart, Bodox, was appalled. They backed Sato into a corner, both barking at her in their own language, which she repeated for Archer's information.   
'No females. No females.' Her eyes swam with tears. She was shocked by the assault and somewhat relieved. If they were going to be like that, then she was free and clear. She could stay on the ship and not have the fate of an entire planet resting on her interpretation of the exchange between these two men, both of whom were clearly lunatics. 'They won't tolerate a female in the room, or listening in, in any way to these discussions.'  
'Well,' Archer was doubtful. 'I guess we'll just have to run the whole thing through the universal translator and hope we can muddle along,' said Archer.  
Hoshi held up the translator and explained its usage to the two men. They were even more outraged by the proposed machine than they had been by the young woman's presence.  
'Apparently that's even worse,' said Hoshi.  
Bodox babbled intently at Hoshi, his hair standing on end and forming a vast green cloud around his head. Gendalier nodded his short-cropped blue head, proving that the two men could agree on some things.  
'They won't tolerate having their words recorded,' Hoshi sighed. 'They say that recordings are too easily manipulated. The truth will walk from this room on two legs.' She shrugged. 'But not mine.'  
'Well how the hell is this supposed to work then?' said Archer. 'I can't talk to them, what am I meant to do, sit here and toss a coin?'  
There was a long discussion between the two men and Hoshi. 'They said why don't we just use bethneget.'  
'Because we don't have the slightest idea what it is.'  
***  
'It's a fascinating drug,' said Phlox, who had spent the entire morning with T'Pol, studying the sample of bethneget, plus all of the data available on it. 'It enables the user to effectively learn an entire language in a matter of minutes.'  
Archer frowned. 'How?'  
'Well, it seems that the people of Rimdek have a physiology very similar to humans. Their brains also contain the two speech centres and they are naturally disposed to learning language rapidly from birth until the age of about eight. This drug affects the speech centres of the brain, causing them to behave as they did when they were younger.'  
'You mean it's a kind of fountain of youth?'  
'Your metaphor is unnecessarily colourful,' T'Pol said. 'The aging process is not reversed. The speech centres are simply reverted to a state that imitates the child's brain.' Had she been even a little less disciplined, she may not have been able to resist a sarcastic comment. But T'Pol didn't even raise an eyebrow at the thought of humans being more childish than they already were.  
'And that's all?'  
'Well, that, and these teaching devices, designed to impart the grammar and vocabularies in the most efficient way. It's really quite remarkable,' said Phlox.  
'This could make Hoshi's job a whole lot easier.'  
'Of course it's never been tested on a human,' said Phlox.  
'But you said our physiologies are similar.'  
'Very similar. Nevertheless, not identical.'  
'The logical step,' T'Pol almost said it with a sigh, already certain her advice would be ignored. '...would be to delegate, Captain. Not put yourself at risk. Have someone else take the drug and mediate at the peace conference.'  
'I would happily take the drug myself,' said Phlox. 'Though that of course would still not tell us how it works on humans.'  
Archer shook his head. 'I'm not going to order anyone on my crew to take an unknown substance.'  
'All the more reason for you to not take it,' said T'Pol.  
'May I remind you, Sub-Commander, that this mission was a Vulcan directive. I didn't want to be here in the first place, but now that I am I'd like to see it through.'  
'Captain, these factions cannot even tolerate a female in the room while they talk.'  
'Does that offend you?'  
'There is no need to be insulting. I was just using the example to illustrate the lack of civility on Rimdek.'  
'Then maybe it's about time they got dragged kicking and screaming into the real world. Anytime you're ready, Dr Phlox.'  
***  
Nobody had known quite what to expect. Trip Tucker arrived from engineering, though he hadn't been invited. He'd become a lot more possessive of the ship and its captain and liked to know exactly what was going on.  
Archer felt a bit like a sideshow exhibit, perched sideways on the biobed while Phlox prepared the ampoule of bethneget. There was that momentary discomfort as Phlox injected him directly in the neck, and then he just sat there, counting seconds.  
'Do you feel...anything?' said Trip.  
Archer opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. It wasn't that he couldn't think of any, but he'd just been assaulted by a wave of dizziness. He started to fall forward, and all he could think of was that he should have sat properly on the bed, and not perched on it sideways because now he was going to fall on the floor.  
Trip caught him, though. Put his hands on Archer's shoulders and pushed him gently backwards. There were another pair of hands supporting him from behind. He felt himself pulled back onto the bed, twisted so that his head was resting on the pillow and his legs were no longer dangling over the edge.  
'That was rather sudden.' Phlox was smiling down at Archer. The doctor looked normal, but his words seemed to come with a terrible, annoying slowness.  
'Are you ready for this?' The doctor held up the headset device for teaching language.  
'Hmmmmmm.' Archer had meant to say yes. He hoped his grunt sounded sufficiently affirmative and was pleased when a moment later he felt the device being placed over his ears.  
***  
Jonathan Archer had actually been staring at the ceiling for quite some time before he realised he was awake. There were entire new customs rushing through his head and he had eleven different words for ceiling and fifteen for light fitting.  
'Captain!' Phlox loomed over him, grinning like a Wonderland cat. 'How are you feeling.'  
Very slowly, Archer sat up. 'Guhhhh...good,' he said, finally locking in to English. 'Really good. In fact,' he jumped lightly down from the biobed, 'I feel fantastic. Great, wonderful, terrific.'  
'You will be continuing with the peacetalks?' said T'Pol.  
'I'm ready when they are!'  
***  
It was boring. He knew it was going to be boring, of course, and he was right. It had been fascinating at first, putting his new linguistic skills to use, but after a while the novelty wore off. Archer admitted to himself that he'd really been quite naive about the depths to which people were prepared to go with pettiness.  
The whole problem pretty simply boiled down to an area of land about ten thousand square kilometres. Not a huge chunk of land. It wasn't particularly arable, though it lay between two rivers. It was rocky and the soil was poor, but both factions claimed it held deep religious significance because of the birth of a prophet within the city there.  
'Our people have always lived there,' said Bodox. 'We simply wish to continue our peaceful way of life.'  
'Peaceful? Huh!' bellowed Gendalier. 'Our people were decimated by the Banthoo. We lived there for thousands of years and it's an historical fact that Oblin the prophet was Halpion. But we were dragged from the city and used as slaves at the time of Oblin's death two hundred centuries ago. The Banthoo live peacefully-yes-as long as the Halpions have been subjugated.'  
And so it went. Painful. Excruciating. Like picking at scabs till they bled. Each denied that the other had any rights at all. Archer had no idea why he was there at all. Like an umpire in a tennis match his attention bounced first one way then the other. There was never going to be accord between these two men. Archer didn't even get a chance to speak.  
He suppressed a yawn and wondered for about the millionth time what they were going to give him for lunch. He'd made sure there were going to be breaks and that food would be provided during these breaks. There was absolutely no reason to suffer more than he had to. He rubbed his eyes, burying his face in his hands, and the argument stopped. Archer hid for a moment longer, hoping he hadn't breached protocol too abominably.  
'Lunch is served, Captain,' said Bodox.  
Archer peeped over his fingers. Two young men were placing dishes on the table in front of them. They silently arranged the plates of food and backed out of the room.  
Bodox bowed his head and whispered a few words of thanks. Gendalier made no prayers. Archer waited, watching as the two men reached for their utensils before he picked up his own and used it to spear something that looked like a lettuce leaf.  
'This is the kind of constant subjugation we have to undergo!' snapped Gendalier finally.  
Bodox crunched on a mouthfull of leaves.   
'What?' said Archer.  
'This!' Gendalier stabbed at his food. 'Do you know what this is?'  
'Salad,' said Archer, who wasn't a huge fan but tried to keep his mother's admonitions to "eat your greens" in mind.  
'It's cultural imperialism, that's what it is!'  
Even Bodox, who was pretty used to the insults by now, stopped chewing.  
'Well look at it!' said Gendalier. 'And look at him.'  
Bodox was green. He was green all over. He had a vast, bushy quantity of green hair that under the right circumstances resembled a head of broccoli. His face was a paler shade of green and his eyes were soft brown-green. He contrasted with Gendalier's short-cropped royal blue hair, soft blue, almost mauve skin and grey-blue eyes. Bodox was as green as his salad. Archer was prepared to concede the point though he was completely oblivious of its relevance.  
'Every day we are told this: "Eat your salad. Salad twice a day. Salad to take care of your intestinal tract. Eat your leaves and stay healthy." It's pure. Cultural. Imperialism!' Gendalier slammed his fist down on the table and made all the salad bowls jump.  
'What the hell are you talking about?' said Archer finally.  
'The colour of our food,' Gendalier hissed through his teeth. 'We are even repressed by the colour of our food. Would we be taught that salad was so good for us if it was blue? I think not.'  
'That is it,' Archer bawled. 'I have had it up to here with you two. You!' he slapped the eating utensil out of Bodox's hand. 'Are an overbearing racially intolerant bully. Your people have lived off the fat of this planet and kept the Halpions in subservient roles for thousands of years. You have systematically chased them off every bit of decent land they've ever owned. You've even twisted their culture and claimed their prophet for your own.'  
He turned back to Gendalier, who had been watching with a large, smug grin. 'And you!' Archer slapped aside the bowl of salad that Gendalier had primly declined to touch, spreading leaves all over the table. 'Your people are a pack of whining blobs who make a career out of being victims. You've never been prepared to stick up for yourselves, you just let the Banthoo push you around until you look pathetic enough to demand guilt money from them, which you then use to engineer vast financial empires. You both feed off each other, driving your whole civilization into deeper and deeper debt which you both seem to want.'  
Both men looked taken aback by the outburst. It was almost the first time they'd heard Archer speak since the meeting had begun and they hadn't expected him to be quite so forceful.  
'You've got a whole planet to live on here, though I must say you're both doing a fine job of turning it into one of the filthiest sewers I've ever had the misfortune to visit. Look at the place. Your people have all have the money, the knowledge and the technology to clean this place up and make it so that people could live anywhere, everywhere. Instead you're prepared to go to a war that could kill your whole race off, over one piece of land. The birthplace of your prophet. Think about it! What was he, a prophet, or a harbinger of doom?'  
Archer got up from the table and strode over to the door. 'I've had it. You can sort out your own stupid problems.'  
And he left.  
***  
Travis Mayweather had lost the last three hands of cards he'd been playing with Bodox and Gendalier's bodyguards and the cook's assistant who'd escaped from the kitchen hours ago. He was just about to start cleaning up when Archer came storming out of the conference room.  
'We're going back to the ship.' The captain didn't even pause, simply swept Travis along in his wake, out of the centre and to the shuttlepod.  
***  
T'Pol insisted on a debriefing session when Archer returned to the ship. She wasn't angry. T'Pol was never angry. It's just that Life Support had to work a little bit harder to keep the room temperature from freezing over as she stood, waiting for the captain to arrive.  
As Archer entered the room, T'Pol moved, almost bristling like a cat, choosing her words for him. Instead he rounded on her, giving her no time at all to speak. 'Don't you ever make me do that again.'  
'Those people requested help. I thought you humans were so desperate to inflict your expertise on other races.'  
'Those people weren't interested in help, they just wanted someone to take sides with them. It was a sad, petty little argument over a trifling piece of land and they're prepared to use nuclear weapons on each other because of it.'  
'Yes. They are acting illogically. Did you find it difficult, dealing with such behaviour?' T'Pol seated herself at the table and waited for Archer, Mayweather and Tucker to do the same. 'You will of course be required to make a full report to Commander Sarvel.  
'I don't want to.' Archer slumped across the table and fiddled with the communications fixture in the centre.  
T'Pol swung the fixture back towards herself. 'Ensign Sato, please contact Commander Sarvel.'  
During the long moments it took to contact Sarvel there was silence, except for a rhythmic thumping that Tucker at first thought was the sound of something going desperately wrong with the ship. He caught a glance from Mayweather whose eyes skimmed the captain, still sprawled across the table and staring moodily at T'Pol. It was Archer's foot, swinging and thumping against the table support that caused the noise.  
'Is there anything I can do, sir?' said Mayweather.  
Archer shrugged. 'Is there anything to eat?' He'd missed out on the meal during the mediation, but it had only been boring salad anyway.  
'I'll see what I can...uh, Chef...maybe a cheese sandwich?'  
'Jelly.' Archer was adamant. 'With peanut butter. And a big glass of milk, and icecream.'  
Mayweather edged out of the room. Archer's voice followed him: 'With sprinkles!' Clearly the mediation session had been a lot more stressful than anyone had realised.  
'Sub-Commander T'Pol!' Sarvel's voice sounded harsh, almost angry. 'Where is Captain Archer's report on the mediation session.'  
'I do not believe the session went well, Commander. He has had a very...human reaction.'  
'I will speak to the captain.'  
T'Pol swivelled the fixture back towards Archer and she and Tucker both stared. Still slumped across the table and apparently unconcerned that he was being watched, Archer had inserted his finger into his nose. He stared at the silver speckled surface of the table and spent some seconds digging about in his nostril before he extracted the finger, rolled it for a moment against his thumb, and then wiped it down the leg of his pants.  
'Captain.' T'Pol's voice would have bent steel. 'Commander Sarvel is waiting for your report.'  
'The meeting was boring,' he said, pushing his chair away from the table. 'Just like this one!'  
And he got up and left.  
T'Pol turned the screen back to herself. 'It would seem Captain Archer is...unwell.'  
Tucker leapt to his feet and headed for the door where he nearly ran into Mayweather who came in with the tray of food.  
'Where's the captain?' Travis placed his tray on the table.  
'I was hoping you might have bumped into him. You try the bridge, Travis, I'll check his quarters. If we don't find him straight away we'd better organise a shipwide alert. Something's badly wrong.'  
They left T'Pol trying to explain Archer's behaviour to Sarvel.  
Trip hurried towards Archer's quarters. Something was very badly wrong. He'd known Archer a long time and although the captain wasn't always sweetness and light, he was mostly sweetness and light. And while he wasn't a huge fan of red tape and protocol, particularly where there were Vulcans concerned, his behaviour was never anything but exemplary.  
There was no need for the shipwide search. Trip found Archer sitting on the floor of the corridor outside his cabin. Porthos came barrelling down the hallway, pounced on a ball, and trotted back to Archer where he deposited the toy.   
'What're you doing, Captain?' Trip asked gently.  
Archer scooped the ball up and bowled it down the corridor, watching, rapt, as Porthos skipped after it. 'Playing with my dog.'  
'Trip squatted beside him. 'Are'y feeling okay?'  
'I feel good,' he grabbed the ball from Porthos and teased him with a fake throw. The dog ran a few steps then bounced back, waiting for the real throw. 'Only, when's Travis bringing me my sandwich? I'm really hungry.'  
'I tell you what, Jon, why don't we just put Porthos back in your cabin and go and visit Dr Phlox.'  
'But I'm not sick.'  
'I'll get Travis to come and he can bring your sandwich. And Malcolm can come too. And T'Pol. It'll be like a party.'  
'Oh, boy. A party.'  
***  
It wasn't much of a party though. Travis forgot the sandwich, and he didn't even stay, just walked with Trip and Archer to the sickbay. Malcolm didn't come at all. Dr Phlox kept wanting him to lie on the bed and have a bio scan, and T'Pol seemed really angry. But T'Pol always seemed sort of angry.  
'It's almost certainly a reaction to the bethneget. Captain, did you eat anything on the planet?'  
'No. They only had boring salad and I threw it at that stupid blue man.'  
T'Pol's jaw clenched, very slightly.  
Phlox placed his hand on Archer's chest as he squirmed on the biobed. 'Captain, you must lie very still so that I can take a scan of your brain.'  
'But I need the bathroom.'  
'Oh.' Phlox took his hand away. 'Well, perhaps you'd better take care of that first and then come back.'  
Trip put his hand over his face, feeling abject humiliation on behalf of Archer. 'Doc, you've gotta do something. I have never ever seen him like this.'  
Archer returned looking slightly rumpled and still fiddling with the his uniform's zip, which seemed to have got stuck half way. He was about to sit down on the biobed for Phlox when he suddenly stared at his hands in horror. 'Oh, no! I forgot to wash up!' He dashed out of the room again.  
Archer finally returned wiping his damp hands down the front of his uniform. His zip was still only half way up his body and it annoyed him. 'Can you do it?' he whispered to Trip.  
'Sure. I'm the Chief Engineer. I'm good at this kind of stuff.' The zip was jammed a little on Archer's tee shirt, it only took a moment. 'There, now lie down on the bed for the doctor.'   
Archer stretched out, submitting himself to the exam. 'It won't hurt will it?'  
'No, Jon,' Phlox assured him. 'You've had these before. Don't you remember?'   
Trip placed his hand on Archer's arm, as if he felt the captain needed a little extra human contact.  
'I was just worried.'  
T'Pol stood behind Phlox and read over his shoulder as he began the bioscan. 'Alterations, look,' the doctor pointed. 'Here, and here. He would certainly be less circumspect, more impulsive than usual.'  
'There hardly seems room for humans to be less inhibited,' T'Pol muttered.  
'Oh, come now, if you really meant that then perhaps you need to review your position as science officer, since you are clearly not displaying the required level of observation of even your fellow crew members. Or was your comment sarcasm?'  
'Sarcasm is a form of humour, doctor.' T'Pol paused. 'I was perhaps exaggerating the captain's condition,' she finally admitted  
'Then perhaps you need to think about what you say in terms of other people's feelings, Sub-Commander. While you may not find human emotion to your taste, it is certainly logical to make an effort to get along with your crewmates. Now look at that.'  
Archer tried to sit up on the bed. 'Look at what?'   
Trip pressed him back down. 'Take it easy, Jon.'  
'That level of disruption would clearly cause processing problems.'  
'Is it the drug?' said Tucker.  
'Most certainly. You can sit up now, Jon.'  
'I will assume command of the ship,' said T'Pol.  
Tucker gave her a hard, searching look. One that even a Vulcan could read.  
'With this level of disruption to his ability to process, the captain is clearly not fit for duty.'   
'He can barely dress himself,' agreed the doctor.  
Archer sat on the end of the bed, swinging his legs. He watched T'Pol with an expression of growing dismay. He reached across to a blanket that was folded and sitting on a shelf near the bed. His hand twisted in the soft synthetic and he dragged it onto his lap.  
'Well how long is this going to go on for?' snapped Trip. He watched Archer draw the fabric of the blanket between his fingers, running them along the edge backwards and forwards until he encountered the satiny label sewn into one corner.  
'I don't really know at this stage,' said Phlox. There will have to be a lot of tests. There was no mention of this in the material we were given, clearly it's due to the differences between human physiology and those on Rimdek. My main hope is that it's simply a temporary side effect that will wear off with no harm done.'  
'I must relieve the captain of his command,' said T'Pol. She left the room.  
Tears filled Archer's eyes and his chin trembled. 'I don't like her. She's mean.' He held the silky corner of the blanket against his cheek and the tears spilled over.  
***  
Hoshi Sato's eyes followed T'Pol onto the bridge. She watched the Vulcan sit in the captain's chair.  
'What happened to Captain Archer?'  
'His physiology was unsuited to the bethneget. He is no longer fit to command the ship.'  
'What? Oh, I can't believe it. This is all my fault.'  
T'Pol considered this for a long moment before asking. 'In what way could this possibly be your doing?'  
'Well, if I'd been there to do the translations...'  
'Both the Banthoo and the Halpion rejected females as strongly as they rejected the presence of Vulcans at their meeting. It is illogical for either you or I to feel any guilt or blame over a decision that was not ours to make.'  
'Well you don't have feelings.'  
'On the contrary, Ensign. I can and do possess feelings. I am simply disciplined. I have control over my emotions and I don't let them direct me. Particularly into irrational and unreasonable thought patterns.'  
'Will the captain get better?'  
'I don't know. Have Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed meet in the ready room. I would like you to also attend the meeting,' she turned to Mayweather at his station. 'Ensign, you will also be present.'  
***  
'I have assumed command of the ship,' said T'Pol.  
'We know,' said Reed.  
'I have not yet informed Starfleet or Vulcan High Command.'  
Mayweather frowned. 'But you told Commander Sarvel...'  
'That Captain Archer was unwell.'  
'Well I'll be...' murmured Tucker.  
'What?' snapped T'Pol.  
'I didn't think Vulcans had it in 'em to lie.'  
'I did not lie, Commander, I prevaricated. I was simply evasive about the extent of the captain's illness. It was logical to do so.'  
Tucker grinned at her. 'Logical?'  
'Commander Sarvel would almost certainly have ordered Enterprise to return to Earth.'  
'Well how sick is the captain?' said Reed.  
Tucker shook his head. 'He's not good. He's behaving like...well, like a child. It's frightening.'  
'It's sad,' said Travis.  
'Wouldn't he be better off back on Earth then?' said Reed.  
'Doctor Phlox knows more about the drug bethneget than anyone on Earth,' said T'Pol. 'And he's expressed an opinion that the effects of the drug could be temporary. There is no logical reason to return the captain to Earth.'  
'That almost sounds like a good deed,' murmured Reed.  
'Ensign Mayweather, I have the new Vulcan starcharts.' T'Pol drew the charts out and they all leaned in over them. It was like peering into a pirate's treasure chest.  
'Why weren't we shown these ages ago?' said Reed.  
'Vulcan High Command did not feel that this ship or its crew was sufficiently mature to explore these areas. There are a lot of Menschauer class planets and possible first contacts with sentient races.'  
'So why do they think we're ready now?' said Tucker.  
'Captain Archer was not readily disposed to perform the role of mediator at the Rimdek peacetalks. I told High Command he would need a great deal of convincing.'  
Mayweather grinned. 'The lady drives a hard bargain.'  
Tucker smiled at the Vulcan. 'Y'know, you'd better be careful about what you say or we might all start to like you.'  
'That is not necessary,' said T'Pol.  
***  
Jon Archer had eaten all of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, except for the crusts, rejected most of his milk, and hardly touched his icecream with rainbow sprinkles, except to stir it in the bowl until it turned into a sort of pale grey semi liquid sludge. 'I'm not supposed to be here,' he complained. 'I'm not sick.'  
'You're quite right, you're not sick,' Phlox agreed, as he removed the plate of icecream and returned it to the tray. 'But you know that your behaviour is not right. Your mental processes have been altered.' He used a napkin to wipe icecream splatters off the front of Archer's uniform.  
'That drug was just supposed to be for language.'  
'And it worked very well. Unfortunately for you it had other effects. Now, I know you're not going to enjoy this, Jon, but I really have to take some more of your blood.'  
'But you already have my blood.'  
'That was from before. If I take some now, I can look at the rate at which your body's metabolising the drug. See how soon before you'll be back to normal.' He unzipped the cuff of Archer's uniform and pushed the sleeve back to his elbow.  
'This is going to hurt again, isn't it?'  
'It won't hurt as much if you hold still this time.'  
Phlox held Archer's elbow and began drawing blood. He was acutely aware of how much bigger Archer was, and that if he became much more childlike and self-centred he could even pose a danger. 'You're doing well, Jon,' he coaxed. 'That's very good. See, it hardly even stings.'  
'Only a little bit.'  
'Now I'm going to put it into the medical tricorder.' He inserted the ampoule of blood into the computer on his desk and immediately began to take readings. 'You see, what happened is that when I gave you the drug, your body took it up much more rapidly than is normal for a user from Rimdek. Now, for them it can take up to a month, six weeks for the effects to wear off. I'm hoping that you'll metabolise it much more quickly.'  
Archer watched him, holding a gauze pad against the needleprick in his elbow. He was afraid to move his arm.  
Phlox was silent for a moment as the tricorder came up with its blood analysis. 'This looks very promising, Jon. As I hoped, your metabolism is breaking down the drug at an accelerated rate. It should be out of your system in less than a week.'  
'Can it go faster?'  
'I have no idea how the use of other substances will interact with the bethnaget, and I don't think it's a very good idea to keep using you as a guinea pig. We'll just let nature take its course. It'll only be a few days.'  
Archer sighed and slumped across the table. 'Do I have to stay here the whole time?'  
'Well, I...'  
'Because you keep making me have needles and things and they do hurt.'  
'You could go back to your quarters, but you'd have to have somebody there with you. Just in case you did get sick.'  
'In my room with me?'  
'Perhaps...just outside the door?'  
***  
'This system, Rigel.' T'Pol pointed. 'Spectral analysis indicates a high concentration of lithium. We may be able to establish Federation presence on a lithium-rich planet.'  
'Di-lithium crystals,' said Tucker. 'We could have a fuelling station all this way out.'  
'Increasing the possibility of more distant exploration. A logical step.'  
***  
When Enterprise came shuddering out of warp speed, Jonathan Archer fell out of bed. His feet were tangled up in the blanket he'd been dragging round. He gathered it up, annoyed, and found that satiny corner again as the hull vibrated beneath him like an animal.  
He padded to the door of his quarters and looked in both directions. There were crewmembers going in all directions. Porthos stood by his feet. The dog looked worried by the passing parade of legs, but stuck by Archer. Ensign Barrows, who was supposed to be minding Archer, was using the commpanel. He turned in time to see Archer with his blanket trailing and beagle trotting at his heels, headed towards the turbolift.  
'Captain!' Barrows pounced but was too late. The lift doors closed. Archer was on his way to the bridge.  
***  
T'Pol was apparently unmoved by the roaring and posturing of the Klingon on the viewscreen. He bellowed at her for quite some time, all but foaming at the mouth in rage.  
'He says we're trespassing,' said Sato.  
The Vulcan raised one eyebrow. 'Commander Kesht is somewhat prodigal in his use of language.'  
'I, uh, paraphrased,' Hoshi admitted.  
'You may inform Commander Kesht that there are no treaties or agreements indicating any ownership of this sector. The Enterprise is on a peaceful mission of exploration and we wish only to continue on our course.'  
Hoshi made an effort to swallow past the lump in her throat. She moved to where the Klingon could see her and began her speech. Her tone was apologetic and the Klingon language just made her sound as if she had a very nasty chest cold. The Klingon commander was clearly not impressed.  
Nobody noticed Jon Archer arrive on the bridge. He trod quietly, being barefoot. His pyjamas were done up wrong and his hair was mussed. Porthos followed, hiding behind Archer's legs and peering fearfully up at the Klingon who at once began to laugh. He jabbed his finger at Archer and asked a question. Everybody on the bridge turned to look and Archer snuck the corner of his blanket up towards his cheek, stroking it softly.  
'It's, uh, Captain Archer,' Hoshi translated, turning back to the Klingon.  
Kesht threw his head back and abandoned himself to laughter.  
'What's so funny about me?' Archer demanded striding into the middle of the bridge and losing Porthos, who decided to hide under Travis Mayweather's console instead.  
'Uh, your pyjamas, mostly,' said Hoshi. 'And your hair. He's not sure about the blanket.'  
'My hair's funny!? Well his is ridiculous!' Archer jabbed his blanket at the almost breathless Klingon. 'Tell him.'  
'Uh, Captain, I don't think that would be a very...'  
'Tell him!'  
T'Pol signalled for help from Reed and Mayweather. 'Captain, I must insist that you return to sickbay.'  
Kesht demanded an interpretation of what Archer had just said, and in very small, stuttering Klingon, Hoshi translated.   
'Now might be a really good time to mention that the captain hasn't been well lately,' said Travis, sliding his hand up under Archer's armpit and trying to edge him away from the middle of the bridge.  
The Klingon's laughter stopped, leaving only a threatening silence for a moment. He turned abruptly and spat an order at one of his officers.  
'He's just ordered his torpedoes to be armed.' Hoshi's hands trembled.  
'Deploy shielding,' said T'Pol.  
'No!' Archer pushed Mayweather's hand aside and stepped forward, glaring at the Klingon on the viewscreen. 'I'm not scared of him. Malcolm, get our torpedoes ready.'  
The Vulcan spoke quietly, her eyes intent on the Klingon. 'Mr Mayweather, remove Captain Archer from the bridge and confine him to his quarters.'  
Archer swung round to Mayweather. 'I'm not going to my quarters, I'm staying here. And you tell him Hoshi that we're not scared and we're not going because this isn't his bit of space, it's anybody's.'  
***  
It wasn't logical. There had been no discussion, no tactics, no planning at all. Just two men, (one of them demonstrably not in his right mind), posturing and squawking at each other. It was like watching a pair of Raganish Fighting Fish flaring their gills at each other and seeing which one could turn the most violent shade of purple.  
The two ships had literally circled about each other, bristling their weapons and shouting threats, before cautiously backing away and each going in the direction it had originally intended. Hoshi Sato had almost collapsed from sheer relief at the end, and Jon Archer had been marched off the bridge between Travis Mayweather and Malcolm Reed. He hadn't seemed at all bothered by the incident. He was returned with dog and blanket to his quarters where he was given a nightcap and tucked into bed. With Reed curled up on a chair in his sleeping quarters and Ensign Barrows still sheepishly standing point outside his door.  
***  
Jonathan Archer sat up in bed, just using starlight to look about his sleeping quarters for a while. He hated putting the light on first thing in the morning, the rude glare of it made him squint. There needed to be some way to imitate dawn on the ship, get people's body clocks working properly. Porthos was still asleep in his basket, on the blanket, which he'd stolen for himself. Reed shifted in his chair and tried to rub the crick out of his neck.  
'Malcolm, have you been there all night?'  
'Yessir. Travis and I brought you here once we'd convinced you to leave the bridge. That was a big risk you took.'  
'Yeah.' Archer was silent for a moment. 'It seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do at the time.'  
'If you don't mind me saying so, sir, you sound a lot more...like yourself this morning.'  
'I feel...like I'm just happy to be here. After what I did on the bridge last night I think we're probably all a bit lucky we're still alive.'  
'It was a calculated risk.'  
'It was sheer lunacy. I'll be lucky if I'll be allowed to stay on Enterprise to swab the decks once T'Pol's made her report to Vulcan High Command. What I did on Rimdek was bad enough, but this could have been construed as an act of war.'  
'Actually, sir, I think the Klingons were kind of impressed with your display.'  
'The Vulcans won't be.'  
'Perhaps if you were to explain the effects of the language drug.'  
'I doubt that they'd be interested in excuses. Might as well go see the doc, though. Check up on how much of that stuff's left in my system.' He slipped out of bed and looked down at his rumpled, wrongly buttoned pyjamas. 'Clean uniform first I think, and a shower.' He scratched his head. 'And some breakfast.'  
'Breakfast?' Malcolm smiled.  
'You choose, let Chef know. Make it something we can get our teeth into.'  
'You're not in a hurry to get the test results from Dr Phlox?'  
'Nah. He's only gonna stick me with needles.'  
***  
T'Pol was supposed to make a report, but she had no idea how to derive any sort of logic from the situation. It was apparently a case of two equally irrational races being able to communicate in a language so primitive that it defied a civilized explanation. Which was more or less how she presented her report.  
Ê  
Ê  
Ê  
Ê  
Ê 


End file.
